


The Hardest Ones to Love

by Cardgamesonmotorcycles



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardgamesonmotorcycles/pseuds/Cardgamesonmotorcycles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Mariku was not an easy man to love, Ryou Bakura knew this better than anyone.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Ones to Love

Mariku wasn’t an easy man to love.  
Ryou Bakura knew this better than most.  
He had to deal with psychopathic rages, insane periods of murderous intent and terrifying anger.  
These moments were less frequent than they were when they first started dating.  
They had increased when they began living together.  
Ryou would return home from the supermarket to find Mariku sitting on the stairs, staring at the front door. He would rush up to Ryou and grab him by his jacket, slamming him against the wall so his feet dangled above the ground and the bags he was carrying fell to the ground. He would ask where he had been, voice dangerously low, ask why he had been so long, why he hadn’t left a note.  
He would accuse him. Accuse him of lying, of being elsewhere, of being with someone else. At first Ryou had been terrified. He would hang there, gazing into the amethyst eyes in horror, voice stuttering, only making Mariku more angry.  
But, after a few repeats of the incident, he learnt what to do.  
He would speak to Mariku gently but firmly, as you would to a misbehaving child. Explain where he had been, gesture to the shopping bags as proof and pull out a receipt with hands that were shaking slightly. He would apologize for taking so long and for not leaving a note. This usually calmed Mariku enough to lower him to the floor but his hand would remain clenched tightly around Ryou’s jacket. Ryou would smile softly up at Mariku, whose face would still be twisted in anger, although less than before. He would lift one hand to rest on Mariku’s, and the other would, cautiously, reach up to his face. He would lower his voice til it was just a murmur, gently stroking Mariku’s cheek with his thumb, and tell him he had missed him.  
Mariku’s face would instantly relax and he would release Ryou’s jacket, instead pulling him into a rough hug and telling him he had missed him too.  
At first these events had confused Ryou. He wondered why Mariku would get so upset when he left, even for a short period of time. Sometimes Ryou would leave to make the dinner, and Mariku would sit staring at the doorway he had left through. When he took the long baths he loved so much, there would be a knock at the door and a concerned voice would say his name. He knew he just had to respond and Mariku would leave, reassured he was still there. It was all rather bemusing to Ryou at first, but after the first few months of living together he came to understand why Mariku acted the way he did.  
He was afraid.  
Afraid of Ryou leaving, afraid of Ryou being with someone else, afraid he had been left alone again. Ryou understood this better than anyone, having been abandoned by his father, shunned by his Yami, and ignored by most of his school friends. He understood the fear of solitude, of the only good thing left in his life disappearing, or finding someone else, someone better.  
So when Mariku got possessive and refused to let go of his hand in public, or growled when people talked to him, or looked alarmed when he couldn’t see Ryou, he understood. He knew to reassure him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, a loving smile in his direction, precise details of where he was going and for how long.  
The rare times when Mariku flew into a murderous, psychopathic rage, Ryou was one of the only two people to be able to stop him, the other being Marik. It was beyond terrifying. The look of craziness in Mariku’s eyes, the way the veins in his face popped out, the way his entire, muscled body tensed, ready to spring, was enough to chill Ryou’s blood and send involuntary shivers down his spine. On more than one occasion Ryou would find Mariku in their room, filling his pockets with various daggers and other weapons so horrible Ryou didn’t even know their names.  
The way to stop these murderous urges was through, essentially, blackmail, though occasionally bribery would work too. The bribery usually included some kind of sexual practice that he knew would interest Mariku, knife play, handcuffs, a new position. Ryou would have to get very close to him, pressing his small body against the larger one, whispering softly into his ear. Suggest something new to try.  
Most of the time this worked, Mariku’s ears would perk up and he would cease polishing and sharpening his weapons to listen to the filth coming out of Ryou’s usually innocent mouth. Sometimes Ryou had to practically pounce on him, peppering his face and neck with kisses and whispering wantonly in his ear, trying to prevent the bright red blush threatening to engulf his face at his seeming desperateness. This solution was not Ryou’s preferred choice, though he had to admit, sometimes it had intriguing consequences. A pair of handcuffs and a small, ceremonial knife now laid in the drawer beside the lube and condoms and were used frequently. Ryou would promptly find himself dumped on the bed, all thoughts of murder leaving Mariku’s mind as he devoured the tasty morsel underneath him. Once they had finished, Mariku would be too tired and content to think about murder, and would drift off to sleep, leaving Ryou to put the weapons back in their rightful place with an amused, fond smile towards the sleeping Egyptian.  
Blackmail was easier on Ryou’s part, but made him feel horribly guilty. Emotional blackmail was the way to do it, and large emphasis was placed on the puppy eyes that the Hikari’s had seemingly been gifted with to control the Yami’s. Ryou merely had to enter the room in which Mariku stood, pacing to and fro while staring at a gleaming dagger and muttering under his breath about slaying and mutilating or torturing, eyes sparkling insanely, and, in a pathetic voice, speak his name. He would use the puppy eyes, looking innocent and scared, which in all honesty, he was. He would let tears collect in his eyes as he trembled like a leaf, maybe giving the occasional whimper. When Mariku’s face had fallen from psychotic to guilty he would stammer at Mariku, please Mariku. He would allow a single tear to trickle down his cheek and would flinch away from Mariku as he reached toward him in apology. That would be enough to make Mariku more concerned about Ryou’s happiness than his own. He would drop the dagger in favor of hugging Ryou tightly, whispering apologies in his ear and rubbing his back gently, placing a gentle kiss on his head. He was always too distracted by Ryou’s traumatized act to see the smirk that would appear on his face as he succeeded.  
Yes, Mariku wasn’t an easy man to love.  
But Ryou would lie in his arms in front of a crappy film, feel his hands gently caressing his hair, feel him hold him so tenderly, like he was afraid he would break. Notice the look of affection that sparkled in Mariku’s eyes when he looked at him. Be surprised by Mariku bringing home cream puffs, his favorite, or suggesting they go out for dinner to save Ryou cooking. Sense the fear in his voice when Ryou would occasionally get angry with him. Hear the quietly whispered, I love you, just before Mariku fell asleep, arms wrapped around his slender waist, head buried in Ryou’s hair, smelling his scent.  
Mariku was hard to love.  
But after all, Ryou would think, the hardest ones to love are the ones who need it most.


End file.
